


Misunderstanding

by CannibalKats



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Second-Hand Embarrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:38:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4594866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannibalKats/pseuds/CannibalKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While watching Cullen and Blackwall spar in Skyhold, Roxy is given some encouragement in the romance department.  Unfortunately she misunderstands the target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this pre-release in response to the announcement that Cullen was unavailable to Qunari Inquisitors. I've made a few adjustments but some descriptions of skyhold's architecture is not quite accurate.

Angry tears brimmed her eyes as she slammed the door behind her and slid down the outside to rest on her haunches. The bard lied, of course she lied, that was what they do. Why would she expect any different from this one? Now she would have to avoid the one place in Skyhold she felt at home.

                Ser Cullen had been surprised at her ability to strategize, she assumed it had to do with his low opinion of Qunari, but as she leaned across the war table to move a cluster of markers she was surprised to be told it was her magical gifts that had coloured that opinion. She often forgot that her upbringing had been a singular one.

Arvaarad and Circle Templars had been the monsters of campfire stories, never a reality she thought she’d witness. Saarebas a whispered insult by the freshly Tal Vashoth in the many Mercenary bands she’d grown among. But the circle mages she’d met in the courts of their noble patrons had never be hounded by armoured beasts in the shape of men, and Ser Cullen seemed as much a man as any other she’d met. Troubled, but who wasn’t these days.

She’d grown up alongside mercenaries. Battleborn, the men teased her, but there was respect in those words, even to a very small child. She’d learn strategy at her mother’s breast, looking down at a map she felt at ease. Her father had trained her with daggers until her magic manifested. The clash of training blades outside was more soothing than the sound of chirping birds.

Then it was apostates, with their books and their warnings, and the demons whispering insid her head anytime she cut herself training at combat. Soon her father sat her down, sadness in his usually smiling eyes for the first time in her memory, and told her there would be no more morning training sessions.

More books, more training, she pulled mana from the fade and formed it over and over. But always she was welcome with her mother, and her maps. Inside the Inquisition there was only one place for her to find that feeling.

Out in the world, where duties were never as small, never as simple as they seemed. In the world with her companions where choices were made in the heat of the moment, never knowing what was right. The anger that followed her when they lost people, wondering if she’d made the right choice.

None of that followed her to the war room. She could look at the table and weigh her options.   She never doubted the choices she made in those meetings, even when they went wrong she was confident she’d done the best she could with the information she’d been given. She’d ruined it. On a whim she burnt the bridge to her sanctuary.

                “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile before,” Leliana cooed.

                “Sera tells me I have _resting bitch face_ ,” the inquisitor snorted, but her smile stayed.

                The bard chuckled. “It looks good on you, Inquisitor.”

                Roxy watched the Warden and her General circle each other on the training ground. Feinting and striking; dodge, parry, feint, the clash of the dulled training blades made her fingers itch to hold a blade again.

                “He feels the same.” It was whispered, sing song like every good secret the bard knew. And when Roxy turned the red head was already gone.

                She felt the blood rise to her face; the tips of her ears were hot. _Was it that obvious_? She wondered briefly how many others had noticed, certainly Sera would have said something teasing to her by now if they had.

                It was a foolish notion, bred of proximity more than anything else. The idea that after seeing so much pain caused by her fanatical brethren that she could open his heart to the Vashoth. He’d been imprisoned by blood mages, yet he seemed to care for the plight of the circle mages.

                Yet she found herself changing before she was due to meet with him that afternoon. Dressing in a fashionable tunic that had been a gift from Vivienne, and rubbing lavender oil along her horns. She even applied kohl to her eyes.

                That he noticed her appearance seemed proof enough in the moment, standing together at the war table her resolve began to falter. She was awkward at flirting, not built for fluttering eyelashes or coquettish smiles. She tried to brush against him whenever it was convenient, but it felt clumsy. Finally they’d run out of topics and she’d run out of time.

                When he turned from the table she grabbed him by the fur mantle and pulled him in to her. It had worked for her in the past, on men and women. Being direct was what she was good at, what she was comfortable with but as she leaned forward to kiss him Cullen raised his hand between them and placed it flat against her face.

                “No,” he said firmly. In a tone normally resolved for rambunctious hounds.

                She immediately let go, hands falling to her side, blood rushing to her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she squeaked out, uncharacteristically small.

                He turned back to the war table, “I’m not interested.” His tone had softened slightly but the discomfort broke her heart.

                “I’m, sorry.” She sputtered, “I was given bad information.” It was stupid, she scolded herself. _Why would you say that?_ She practically ran to the door. “I sh- I should have asked.”

                It felt like hours that she sat crumpled outside to door to the war room, quietly cursing herself, and everyone involved. Head on her knees and palms held firm against her eyes as if they could stop the tears. She heard heavy foot falls in the hall and drew herself up and continued to lean on the door while she composed herself. It offered as much support as she felt she deserved.

                She rubbed her hands on her pants and tried to wipe away the rest of the kohl from her eyes without making too much mess as Ser Blackwall came into view. His beard was groomed and his hair slicked back, he smiled when he saw her but it quickly faded as his brow furrowed.

                “Is all well? Did Ser Cullen have bad news?”

                “Not at all, Warden, is there something I can help you with?”

                A _look_ crossed his face; just for a second before it was gone, then he smiled. “I was on my way to the tavern; Bull said you might be here. I figured you could use a drink.”

                Roxy watched his face as she agreed. His expression never broke but his smiled seemed to extend to his eyes. She remembered the training yard, when the bard had spoken. The warden had been smiling at her.


End file.
